


Casualties of Causality

by Alexdoesthings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Has Issues, Emotional Baggage, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Derek Hale, Pack Bonding, Stiles Comforts Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexdoesthings/pseuds/Alexdoesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All foreseeable evil is defeated and life is good in Beacon Hills. Unless if your name happens to be Derek Hale.</p><p>This came about because of Tumblr at the beginning of season three when somebody said "5 bucks says Jeff twists Derek into an omega and makes him a disgrace."<br/>And I wanted Stiles to save him from himself because Stiles is the only person who always comes back for Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have a lot of fics that I should be updating but I had to get this out before season four came out or I was going to go nuts. Also, I want to help get the Sterek fic count up so posting more things is actually a good thing! Positive thoughts! Besides, I have something like 68 Sterek WIPs floating around my fanfiction folder, might as well publish them.
> 
> I might update slower than most but I'll get around to everything, I promise.

 Derek’s life was a cosmic joke. Misfortune and death dogged his steps insistently, stealing away everyone around him but never pulling him into the abyss after them. It was like every deity from every faith had come together to try and outdo the others in a sick competition for how badly they could mess him up.

He wasn't a bad person; he tried hard and he didn't want much, just to keep the people around him safe, but he couldn't ever seem to do anything right.

And now it was worse than ever. He hadn't listened to the counsel of those around him, again, when they told him what the right thing to do was and they'd all suffered for it. But now he was sure he was doing the right thing because it was exactly what everyone had always told him to do, leave. No one wanted him there; no one needed him now, if they ever did. He was the piece of the puzzle stuck in the wrong box, trying to fit into a picture that wasn't his, so he stopped trying, became a discarded piece.

Derek was an omega now, disgraced and hated, but he’d done what he knew would help everyone in the end and accepted that this was how he was meant to be. It was painful though. Everything had been stripped from him again and this time there was no Laura, no goal, and no hope. He’d lost everything, his pack, his alpha powers, and the trust of every person he knew, but they were safe. Scott had taken up the mantel of leader, as he was probably meant to all along, and he would protect them. Derek believed in the new alpha, the true alpha. Scott would be good to them; he’d make them happy and keep them safe, build them a strong pack and hold them together like Derek could never hope to.

Disgraced and without a pack, weak and alone with nowhere to go, Derek went home. Not back to the apartment, but back to the burnt ruin in the woods that had once been the place he shared with his family, where he’d been happy. The irony of returning when his world has been decimated was not lost on Derek, but it felt right to be there now.

He didn't make it as far as the house though. He stopped next to the lake where the river flowed in and stared at the house through the trees. The crushing loneliness he’d been fighting since he’d started blindly running caught up to him and Derek fell to his knees. His breathing was uneven from sobs that had no sound as tears flowed endlessly down his cheeks, soaking his skin in liquid misery. It hurt so much that he was beyond sound, robbed of the strength to voice the agony pounding through him harder and faster than the water over rocks behind him.

And if he curled up there as tight as he could manage and mourned until his tears had run dry and he was so wrung out that he could do nothing but lie there on the gritty leaf litter and stare into nothingness, there was no one there to see it.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski seemed to be the only one who cared that Derek Hale hadn't been seen or heard from in almost seventy-two hours. Maybe it was understandable with everyone glowing in the wonder of their new found pack and their triumph over evil and all that. Still, Stiles was the only person who had asked, even in passing, where’s Derek? The others hadn't wondered aloud about him at all and, when mentioned, the name drew dark looks and heavy silence.

He’d dragged Scott along to Derek’s apartment to check on him but Scott informed him, obviously, that Derek hadn't been there in days. Scott had been gentle, if exasperated as he’d told Stiles that Derek had left on his own, by his own choice. Stiles knew that and he tried to do as Scott suggested and put Derek from his mind, but it nagged at him.

Perhaps that’s what made him walk into the woods after practice toward the burnt remains of the Hale house. He didn't actually expect Derek to be there, he went because he wanted to ease his mind. He’d come to the conclusion that Derek had probably left town a while ago, relocated to some new city and probably found a pack to take him in.

It was a comforting thought, but in his gut, he knew it wasn't true. So when he spotted the curled up mass of a person on the ground next to the lake, Stiles didn't even question who it could be.

He froze for a second, breath going cold in his chest when he spotted Derek in his unmoving position on the ground. He didn't want to find another body, he’d done that enough in the past year to last him a lifetime.

“Derek,” he called as he ran toward the huddled figure, watching closely for signs of life.

Images of blood, dried and hard, in the creases of clothing, skin ashen, and limbs stiff with death, flashed through Stiles mind. It was terrifyingly easy to picture, Derek dead, and it sped Stiles’s feet. He wasn't that far away but it felt like an eternity to Stiles. He didn't want to have to explain, again, how he’d found a body, how someone else he knew had been brutally pulled from the world.

Derek was lying on his side, curled in on himself, and Stiles skidded up to him on his knees. His hand instantly fell to Derek’s shoulder and gripped it as he said, urgently, “Derek, answer me. Derek!”

The skin under Stiles’s hand was mercifully warm but Derek didn't really respond so Stiles shook his shoulder and reached with his other hand to turn Derek’s head toward him. As his head was pulled around, Derek’s eyes remained on their spot in space until it was out of view then, with agonizing slowness, drug up Stiles’s body. Those eyes were a dead grey instead of their usual vibrant riot of bright color. When his eyes finally reached Stiles face and found his worried amber eyes, a spark of recognition flitted through them and Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.

 “Derek, you’re soaked,” Stiles observed, mystified. The side of his body that rested on the ground was dark with dampness, as though he hadn't shifted position since the last time there was moisture. Derek’s hair was flecked with dirt and his skin was smeared with mud that had dried and cracked there, like he couldn't be bothered to the move the two feet to the body of water next to him and clean himself off. Derek occasionally lived rough but he wasn't one to completely neglect his personal hygiene.

Stiles got it then, really got it. Derek had been laying here for three days, alone, through a heavy rainstorm and quickly chilling nights. He grimaced at the idea, at how lonely and lost Derek looked, how utterly, hopelessly defeated. He didn't really decide to do it, not really, but if anyone in the universe needed a hug at that moment, it was Derek Hale. Stiles maneuvered Derek’s perfectly compliant dead weight until his head hung over Stiles’s shoulder and he could wrap both arms around Derek’s back, pulling him close to his chest. It wasn't a very comfortable position, Derek’s legs splayed out awkwardly to one side, but Stiles didn't care at the moment.

“It’s going to be alright, Derek,” Stiles said with conviction, not sure if that was a lie or not, knowing the words were empty but saying them anyway, as though he could force it to be true. He held on to Derek like he could pull the broken bits of him together and make him whole again if he just held on tight enough. Derek didn't respond but Stiles felt him close his eyes and pull in a deep breath.

Derek didn't believe for a second that he would ever be alright again. In fact he was pretty sure that this was his last moment and Stiles was the product of his imagination. He’d heard that people, right before death, experienced a happy moment as their minds conjured up the things that brought them joy, and all the people that they loved came to welcome them to the other side. It was just his luck that none of his family had come to take him across the divide between life and death. It hurt that they weren't here, but it wasn't unexpected. Stiles might not have been his first choice but he also wasn't his last, and there was something to be said for that.

He kept his eyes closed so he could concentrate completely on Stiles, using his other senses to keep him there as long as possible. His heart beat was slower than it had been when he’d feared for Derek’s life but it was quick and steady in his ears and Derek let it drown out the sounds around them. Derek couldn't have said why, but Stiles smelled oddly like home, not Derek’s home, that smell had long since been lost to him, but like comfort and safety, a place to rest and a place to heal. Stiles body was warm and solid as he held Derek like he hadn't been held in a very long time. He had long since learned that the comfort of another’s arms didn't really mean safety, but, at that moment, he didn't care one way or another. He soaked in the momentary relief from his isolation and let Stiles warm his chilled skin.

“It’s going to be alright,” Stiles repeated softer, instinctively tightening his arms for a second, trying to make Derek believe that there was still one person in his cold, dead world who cared what happened to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the feedback! I know I don't answer comments back very often but every one of them is precious to me and keep me writing. So thanks for that.

They were there for a long time, neither of them was sure how long, but they drew a comfort from each other that cushioned a void in their hearts. It didn’t fill that emptiness, but it helped, calmed them. Stiles hadn’t realized, until it was gone, that he’d been tense these last few days not knowing what had happened to Derek. Having him close and alive let him relax.

Derek was so focused on Stiles that he didn’t notice the dog approaching them until it was only a few yards away. His eyes snapped open and met the large dog’s eyes warily. Frothing saliva dripped from its gaping maw and the pungent smell of disease hung around the creature. Derek’s arms came up around Stiles’s back protectively and he flashed his eyes in warning.

Stiles noticed the change in Derek, the tensing of his muscles as though he was about to jump into a fight and he froze, listening. He heard the dog bark, but it wasn’t a normal bark, something was off about it, as though the thing was unhinged. The sound made Derek tense further and gather his legs underneath himself stiffly. Derek shifting him to one side and Stiles felt the entire motion as Derek pushed himself to his feet and directly in the path of the rabid dog.

He loosed a warning growl into the twilight air but the dog was too far gone to heed it. Its fevered eyes were on Stiles over Derek’s elbow. Derek shifted to try and keep Stiles out of view and make the dog focus on him. The creature charged forward with another deranged bark and Derek stepped forward to meet it. They slammed into each other, the dog leaping toward him and Derek catching it in midair. His strength had been sapped by his comatose state and, where he would usually have been able to hold the dog easily, the momentum of its leap carried them backward and the crazed beast landed on top of Derek. The two snarled viciously at each other. It was thrashing around so much Derek couldn't get a clear shot at anything vital, fending it off with one hand.

Stiles did not stay stunned for long; he searched around him for anything he could use as a weapon. There was a snapped tree limb lying not two feet from his left hand and Stiles snatched it up. It said a lot about his life choices recently that he ran at a rabid dog with no fear or reservation and slammed the bough as hard as he could into its flank. The branch cracked against its side and broke in half upon impact, barely jarring the dog.

Stiles stared at the splintered end he held in his hand with a morbid sense of déjà vu and had barely a second to scrabble back as the dog chomped the air where his arm had been. Stiles tripped over a rock in his haste and fell gracelessly onto the slightly damp earth. He scrambled back on his hands as the dog made to leap at him but Derek grabbed its paw as it sprang and yanked it down. It fell onto its side with a yelp before snapping at Derek once more. Derek slammed its head into the ground as it thrashed before silencing its manic barking with a quick sweep of claws that sent blood spraying across the pair crouched on either side of it.

Stiles and Derek were still for a second as blood gushed from the dog’s severed throat and seeped into the ground. Then they mirrored each other as their eyes traveled up and down the other’s body, checking for injuries, and then lingering before meeting the other’s gaze once again. The communication went unspoken as they acknowledged that neither was injured and that the other had been foolish in his actions.

Derek glanced down at his bloody hands as his claws retreated, feeling the unpleasant oozing of fresh blood between his fingers. He stood mechanically, turned to the lake, and knelt beside the serene body of water. He tuned out Stiles muttering behind him about negligent dog owners and washed the blood from his hands with quick, methodical motions. Then he gathered some water between his cupped palms and scrubbed his face with the icy liquid. He grabbed another handful and dragged his wet hands through his hair and down his neck as though performing a sacred cleansing ritual. It was refreshing and the world seemed a little different as he raised his head again and looked out to the graying outlines of trees on the other bank.

A warm weight fell onto Derek's shoulders as Stiles slid his jacket around him. By the time Derek had looked up at him, Stiles had moved back, arms crossed in a defiant gesture. Derek’s hand found the edge of the material unconsciously and gripped it. He almost gave it back, it’s not like he really needed it, although the extra warmth was nice since his shirt had been ripped at some point and was letting in the creeping chill of the oncoming night. But something about Stiles’s look told him that this was his olive branch and he’d do well not to burn it. Derek wasn’t used to accepting help, but he nodded once in gratitude.

“Come on,” Stiles said and his voice was assertive, leaving no room for debate, “you’re staying with me.”

Derek frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Stiles beat him to it, glaring him down as he said, “I’m not leaving you alone after all this even if I have to shoot you up with wolfsbane and drag you out of here by your fangs.”


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles rubbed at his sore neck with one hand and reached into the recesses of his locker for a book with the other. He’d snuck Derek into his room and the two had cleaned the blood and dirt off of themselves properly. Then they’d spent most of the evening in their own heads.

Derek had wedged himself in the corner made by the wall and the edge of his bed and pulled all his limbs in close like he was trying to become as small as possible in order to become one with the drywall. Stiles started on his homework, finished it, and surfed the web for some obscure reference Lydia had made earlier in the day. He had wanted to research Derek’s condition but he wanted to do it when Derek didn’t have a direct line of sight to his laptop.

He kept catching sight of Derek out of the corner of his eye. He’d closed his eyes but Stiles was fairly certain that he wasn’t sleeping. He didn’t press Derek though; it was kind of obvious that the guy needed some time and Stiles had already made it clear he was here to listen if Derek decided to talk. He was just glad he’d found Derek when he did. He had no illusions about the state the newly turned omega had been in. If Stiles hadn’t come along Derek would have died out there, possibly torn apart by the rabid dog without lifting a claw to defend himself.

Stiles wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep but he woke with his face plastered to the keyboard and a line of letters typed into the search bar on his browser. It had been an uncomfortable position to say the least and he was suffering for it now.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott called to him in warm greeting, extricating himself from Kira with a quick, “See you later.”

Stiles shut his locker as Scott drew level with him and returned the greeting as he shoved the book into his backpack and zipped it with a practiced motion.

“Where were you after practice,” Scott asked, all brown eyed and carefree like Stiles hadn’t seen him in ages, having a pack was doing him wonders, “I was looking for you. I know you’ve been worried about Derek and I wanted to take your mind off it. I thought we could hang out.”

Stiles fell naturally into step beside Scott as they made their way to class and said, “Actually, it’s a funny story, I took a walk after practice and took in a stray werewolf.”

“What,” Scott asked, confused.

His nostrils flared as Stiles continued, lightly, “That’s like the story of my life though. Maybe I should turn this into a business, something lucrative with a catchy name, like Stiles Home for Wayward Werewolves. You can help me make t-shirts.”

Scott caught his shoulder and stopped him. He gave Stiles a searching look and inhaled again as he said, confused, “You smell like Derek.”

“I think there’s some kind of etiquette for smelling people,” Stiles said, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “Not that I mind your wolfy nose getting all up in my business or anything.”

“You found him,” Scott asked, totally ignoring Stiles words.

Stiles voice sobered and Scott couldn’t read the look in his eyes as he answered, “Yeah, out by his house. It was bad, Scott. He was lying there like he hadn’t moved in days.”

Scott’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose up his forehead as he asked, shocked, “Is he okay?”

Stiles pulled his shoulder out of Scott’s grip and kept walking so he wouldn’t have to look at him. It wasn’t like it was Scott’s fault exactly, but his best friend hadn’t exactly been concerned about Derek when he’d run off.

“I don’t really think anyone would be okay after that,” Stiles said, with a long breath, “but he’s not dead. Yet, anyway.”

Scott was quiet beside him for a few seconds and Stiles saw his features harden with a sense of duty and responsibility, a look that was starting to become a regular with him. It made him look more mature and capable, like the leader and alpha he had become.

“I should talk to him,” Scott said seriously.

Stiles rounded on his friend and stopped their progress in the middle of the hall. Some of the people that had been walking behind them shot them dirty looks and grumbled at the sudden stop, but both ignored them.

“That is a colossally terrible idea,” Stiles insisted. He wasn’t sure why he was so convinced but he had a feeling that scenario couldn’t end well for anyone.

“Why,” Scott asked, brow furrowed.

Stiles struggled for a moment to come up with a good reason that wasn’t purely gut instinct, though that had never led him wrong before. “Maybe at some point,” Stiles conceded, “but I really don’t think having… an alpha around is going to help him right now.”

Scott had started giving him an odd look like Stiles had decided to tattoo a Care Bear on his forehead. Stiles checked behind him to make sure it wasn’t someone else he was staring at. Finding no one particularly out of the ordinary, Stiles turned back and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Scott frowned, puzzled, like he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at, then he asked, “Did you two kill something?”

Stiles was the confused one now. “Yeah, sort of. There was a rabid dog that attacked us, but Derek did all the killing, I just hit it with a branch, which broke by the way. Lydia’s right, I should probably invest in some heavy duty metal weapons if I’m going to continue getting into fights beside werewolves. And the fact that fights is in plural here means I really need to reexamine my life choices.”

He ended on a weak laugh but when Scott did not join him, as he might usually have, it died. Killing the dog seemed totally unrelated to anything but the way Scott was looking at him, it seemed important. Stiles dropped his feigned attempt at a smile and asked, “Why?”

Scott shook his head and said, dismissively, “It’s nothing, just something Derek told me once.”

Stiles had opened his mouth to demand further answers but he was interrupted by Coach Finstock shouting, “McCall! Stilinski! Get to class!”


	4. Chapter 4

Derek was feeling stronger that day, still not up to full strength yet but getting there. Stiles had gone to school with a pained look on his face, telling Derek he wasn't allowed to skip class again this week or he'd be in huge trouble but he'd be back as soon as he could. Derek tried to tell himself not to wait that long, to stop acting like a child and leave already, but his limbs were filled with exhaustion of a different kind and no amount of self shaming would change that. It was hard enough to force himself to get up and take care of himself let alone trying to figure out where to go with his life from this point forward.

So he did not move from the spot next to Stiles’s bed where he’d taken up residence the night before, allowing his thoughts to crush him in place.

Derek was staring at the leg of Stiles’s bed, eyes glowing iridescent blue, when he walked in. Derek blinked as Stiles entered the room and when his eyes opened again, the glow was gone. Stiles was watching in a clinical manner, setting his backpack down and approaching without breaking eye contact. He crouched in front of Derek and his eyes flicked between the werewolf’s. Derek gave him an annoyed look, raising an eyebrow at him in question.

“You’re eyes are blue again,” Stiles observed in answer. He wasn’t surprised, he’d known Derek’s eyes wouldn't be red anymore, after he’d lost his alpha powers saving Cora, but he hadn't seen them up close in a long time.

Derek looked away, eyes falling on the bedspread beside him, almost ashamed.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Stiles said, defensively.

“You don’t know-” Derek started, darkly, but Stiles interrupted neutrally, “Peter told me what it means.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back up to Stiles in surprise as though he’d been expecting some kind of hatred or judgment. He found none, not even pity. Stiles still looked at him the same as he always did, but now with the intensity of his curiosity, his need to know and understand, and just a hint of concern.

“Show me,” Stiles said. It was firm but gentle, still a request but Derek didn’t really think about denying it. His eyes blazed blue again and Stiles leaned in closer to examine them. His hand came up of its own accord, slow and careful, to tilt Derek’s chin. Derek would normally swat that hand away as it softly turned his head and lingered on his skin, but he allowed it.

The intensity of Stiles’s scrutiny from anyone else might have made Derek feel like a specimen under a microscope or a freak in an exhibit. Stiles was gentle about it though, not pushing his bounds and giving Derek the opportunity to stop him if he wasn't comfortable. He felt strangely human under that look, more so than he had in days, months, if truth be told. It was an odd feeling, like Stiles was a doctor examining his wounds before fixing them.

“Sorry,” Stiles said awkwardly after a moment, like he’d only just realized what he was doing. He looked away and dropped his hand as he stood up.

Derek shrugged noncommittally and let his irises fade back to their human coloring. Stiles’s close examination left him feeling raw, as though he’d stripped away some armor plating that usually covered Derek and left him exposed to the elements. Stiles was suddenly jittery, filled with nervous energy in his discomfort that manifested itself in tapping fingers and shifting balance.

“If you want to… talk about it though,” Stiles offered hesitantly, not looking at Derek but sincere all the same, “I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a heavily charged silence after that which tasted like the air before a lightning strike. Stiles stared pointedly at the same spot and Derek stared at him, expression unreadable.

Derek had expected to be thrown out after a night, never imagining that kindness to be anything more than a onetime deal to allow him to recoup before getting out of dodge. Stiles wasn't forcing him out though, even though Derek knew, realistically, he should at least go back to his own apartment. His pack’s scent still hung in the air there though and the silence and emptiness would swallow him whole. It was a horrible prospect and he was too weak at heart to refuse the comfort of being surrounded by another person’s scent and life. Stiles was giving him time to stick around as long as he needed, offering him the help he could. It was an odd concept to Derek.

Stiles finally broke the stillness of the room by turning his back on Derek to face his desk as he said awkwardly, “I’m just going to-”

“Stiles,” Derek said, his name falling off of his lips in a soft question that cut into Stiles’s words and silenced them with ten times the meaning.

Stiles turned back to him as he said, “Yeah?”

Derek was quiet for a few long seconds and it felt like there was a world inside that small chunk of time that burst forth from the anticipation coursing between them. He wasn't even sure what he was going to say until he couldn't look at Stiles anymore and turned his head away as he said, quietly, “Thank you.”

Stiles was surprised by those words but even more so by the change since he'd had entered the room that was suddenly obvious to him. Derek's shoulders had been high and his muscles had been tensed but now he seemed more at ease. Stiles was calmer too. All day he'd been vibrating with nervous energy worrying about Derek, wondering if he'd still be there when he got home. It was a strange relief to have him there where he knew he was safe instead of running around still weak from his three days immobile in the elements

There was the hint of a smile at the edge of Stiles's mouth as the shock wore off. "You don't owe me anything, Derek," Stiles dismissed it, gentle but sincere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide whether I should comply with canon or not in regards to Derek's eyes, but since we have no idea what's going on right now I decided to just go along with my original plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lesson in ask and ye shall receive! So you can thank [Kosztuszka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosztuszka/pseuds/Kosztuszka) for the lovely update

Stiles actually feel asleep in his own bed that night and woke groggily to something warm brushing his hand. He blinked sleepily into the graying light of early morning and saw his hand curved over the side of the bed, Derek’s face directly beside it. Derek’s torso rose as he breathed in and fell gently back down when he breathed out. On the exhale, his breath warmed the tips of Stiles’s fingers.

The blanket and pillow Stiles had laid out for him after he'd refused Stiles's bed or the spare were still sitting a few feet from Derek where Stiles had left them. Stiles shook his head in fond exasperation and was about to move his hand back onto the mattress when he felt skin touch the back of it. He froze and glanced back over just as Derek nuzzled his hand and settled his cheek against it, still sleeping. Stiles exhaled an amused breath through his nose, running through several dog jokes at the uncanny likeness.

His smile slipped slowly away as he watched Derek through sleep heavy eyes. Stiles had always heard that people looked more peaceful in sleep. Derek was, in his opinion, the exception. His face was relaxed and he was less guarded but it was as though the hunted look about him never really went away. Even in his sleep Derek was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Although, considering Derek’s life up until this point, it wasn't that much of a surprise.

It was a sobering sight and Stiles eyes roved over Derek’s features for a long moment. He shifted closer to relieve some of the pressure on his wrist. He could see Derek’s face better from this angle and it didn't help the ache building in his chest. He desperately wanted to wipe that look off Derek’s face somehow.

He wasn't entirely sure who the gesture was meant to comfort, but he drew the fingers of his other hand softly through Derek’s hair. Derek did not, surprisingly, wake up but relaxed further into Stiles's hand. He repeated the action until it became an unconscious, mesmerizing rhythm. He dropped off to sleep with his fingers still tangled in Derek’s gently spiked, black hair.

* * *

Derek still appeared to be out cold, leaning against his bed, when Stiles woke up. He figured it was probably for the best to leave him be for the moment.

Stiles stumbled as quietly as he could to the bathroom then stood in front of the mirror like he’d forgotten what he was doing. He scrubbed a hand across his face groggily but paused in the motion as he caught Derek’s scent there and the vague memory of waking in the night came back to him.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His palm was over his mouth and nose, fingers splayed over his right eye, and his hair a sleep tousled mess. He looked into his left eye reflected in the glass. It wasn’t the same as it had been a year ago, nothing about him was.

He wondered what the person he’d been then would have thought of him now. He found a sardonic smile curving the edge of his lip as he thought how younger him would have reacted to the crazy life he lead these days. His best friend was an alpha werewolf and he’d been in more fights and seen more death than he cared to think about.

He leaned closer to his reflection, the smirk dropping. It had all sounded cool until he’d started living it. When finding the bodies wasn’t just a cool idea and the fights were life or death, it all lost its glamour. The events in the mind of his younger self had been so much more innocent than the real deal. He was almost jealous of that naïve guy he’d been not so long ago.

He drew in a sigh but somewhere in between drawing breath and actually making the sound he just started breathing deep, Derek’s scent washing over him as it slowly faded from his hand. He didn’t want to think about how that scent was like a soothing balm to his gruesome thoughts.

He wasn’t even considering going back to being who he was though. That life was gone from him and he was kind of okay with that. He would rather live with the blood and pain, helping the people close to him, than go back to being ignorant about the world.

* * *

Derek heard the footsteps outside the door but he didn't react, assuming they were Stiles’s. He realized too late that the rhythm of the steps were similar but definitely different. He tensed to move, the need to flee invading his limbs, but he had reacted too slowly. The door to Stiles’s bedroom opened and Sheriff Stilinski in civilian clothing stood there surveying Derek with a neutral expression that gave nothing away. Sensing his jumpiness, the Sheriff held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“It’s okay, son,” he said calmly, “I already knew you were here.”

Derek frowned at him and the Sheriff chuckled at his confusion. He stepped into the room, shut the door behind him, and pulled up Stiles’s desk chair as he said, “People seem to forget that I raised that kid. I don’t always know exactly what he’s up to but I can tell when he’s hiding something.”

He settled himself on the chair, facing Derek and leaning on his elbows. He peered at him clinically, the smallest smile quirking the corner of his mouth and softening his features. They sat in silence for a long moment, sizing each other up. Derek was watching warily, waiting for the Sheriff to read him the riot act, but the older man was too calm for that. 

Derek finally decided this was an excellent opportunity to vacate the premises; the Sheriff could not possibly want someone like Derek anywhere near his son after the dangers he’d been put in because of him. The prospect of leaving was a hard one to stomach but it’s what he should have done from the start. He looked away from elder Stilinski’s gaze and started to stand up as he said, “Thank you for-”

“I’m not here to kick you out,” the Sheriff interrupted, waving his hand almost impatiently to indicate Derek sit back down. Derek did, reluctantly settling into a more comfortable position against the wall and farther from the bed, caught off guard.

The man shifted further forward in his son’s chair so his entire being was projecting sincerity as he said, “You can stay as long as you need, Derek. And if you want to talk, I’m here.”

The family resemblance was striking in that moment. Both of them had simply accepted Derek needed help and extended it to him as though it was a given all along. Derek had not had anyone care about his well being like this in a long time and it threw him off kilter. He dropped his eyes from the Sheriff’s and nodded in gratitude. He mirrored Derek's nod, understanding what he'd done for Derek in simply offering to be there for him.

Then the man’s eyes clouded over with worry and he heaved a heavy sigh. Derek saw the stress on his shoulders and the lines in his face that had gotten more pronounced in recent months. Finding out about the truths of the world he had been ignorant of had aged him, but not nearly as much as the worry for his son in the wake of this revelation. He was a good cop, good man,  and a good father, all he wanted for his son was for him to be happy. That was a tall order these days.

Concern etching lines around his eyes and mouth as he looked down at his clasped hand and said, “I know Stiles has his heart in the right place but you're not the only one he needs to look after right now. He doesn't talk to anyone about, not even Scott, but I know something's wrong. He'll keep ignoring it and pushing through it though until it kills him,” he looked up at Derek then and his eyes got sharper along with his tone, pinning Derek where he sat as he said, “I know that’s something you have in common.”

Stilinski watched him for a long moment like he was waiting for Derek to say something but Derek remained in his silence. When Derek was not forthcoming the man continued with the stern softness of a concerned parent, “I know he needs someone to take care of right now, but he could use someone to look after him too. I honestly don’t know if I think you’re the right man for the job, Derek, but I know he trusts you. All I ask is that you don’t hurt each other because you’re too proud to admit you need help.”

He left Derek to mull over his words and called out to Stiles as he headed out the front door that he'd see him later and not to forget to feed his guest.


	6. Chapter 6

Afternoon had sent the shadows in Stiles's room spinning and lengthening. Derek didn't notice the time passing until Stiles finally reentered the room, like his presence was a measure for time.

Stiles sat in front of Derek with his legs crossed and Derek tracked the motion of it more as an automatic response than anything else. Stiles caught his eyes with a look that was gentle but still with a firm edge that said Derek wasn't getting out of this by staying silent. That look made something in Derek shift, some ground in his head he’d been holding onto crumbling away.

“I’m not pushing you,” Stiles clarified, putting his palms up in a gesture of sincerity, “But it’s been a few days and you haven’t said a whole lot. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that you’re not going to get better sitting there. We don’t have to talk about any of it, but if you want to we can. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Derek surveyed him for a few long seconds before he felt what little fight was in him leave his body. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Derek said, slumping and looking away from Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles said, concern growing, leaning so he was in Derek’s line of sight, “Look at me.”

Derek shifted his eyes away because he couldn't look at him. The crumbling feeling was getting worse and Stiles wasn't helping. He felt like he had his back to a cliff and was about to fall into the abyss he’d been trying not to look at or acknowledge was slowly eating him alive.

He didn't remembering letting his mouth move but the words were falling dejectedly from his lips as he said, “I’m just... broken.”

The admission seemed to take everything out of him. His eyes closed and he slumped further so his body was spread out, as opposed to his usual on edge, closed posture, as though he was welcoming the reaper to take him away. It was equally heartbreaking and frustrating for Stiles, who couldn't stand to watch Derek, who always tried to be so strong, look so defeated.

“We’re all broken, Derek,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice coaxing calm but the other feelings were leaking in around the edges, tensing the words, “We've all gone through hell in this and I know you've had it worse than most of us, but you’re not beyond repair.”

“How would you know,” Derek asked and it was almost an attack, like he was talking to a small child who’d never seen the world. After everything Stiles had been through, growing up too fast and fighting all manner of horror and creature that went bump in the night, he was far from that. The implication boiled his blood.

He found himself leaning in and grabbing at the front of Derek’s shirt to jerk him forward. “Because I have to believe that,” Stiles practically shouted at him, his vehemence getting the best of him.

Derek’s eyes opened at that, surprised and taken aback. Stiles was practically panting and Derek could feel him shaking with repressed emotions as he glared at him, only inches from his nose. Derek could tell by the manic desperation in Stiles eyes that it wasn't just for his sake that he needed to believe that Derek could still walk away from everything okay. The Sheriff wasn't wrong about them.

Derek’s eyes clouded over and he dropped Stiles’s gaze again. Stiles shook him violently so Derek looked back at him and warned, angry, “Don’t do that.” Derek frowned back at Stiles whose his eyes were blazing with indignant rage.

“Don’t do what,” Derek asked, suddenly tense like he was expecting to be hit.

Stiles’s hand tightened around the fabric in his hand as he all but yelled, “Act like you don’t mean anything, like you’re just some kind of charity I've picked up!”

Stiles caught the wariness in Derek’s eyes, like he was watching a dangerous, cornered animal, unsure what it would do next. Stiles let go abruptly like he’d only just realized what he was doing and looked at the floor somewhere next to Derek’s knee. “Sorry, I just,” Stiles started, frustrated with himself as much as Derek, but didn't finish.

There was a range of emotions raging around him, almost too many mixing over each other to really get a lock on one, but it wasn't a healthy medley. There was a pulling in Derek’s gut directly related to the look on Stiles’s face and he found his hand moving before he thought about it. It brushed Stiles’s hair, grazing his ear. Instead of flinching away as he’d expected, Stiles closed his eyes momentarily at the contact, like Derek had pulled him out of something. They both came back to themselves at exactly the same time, Derek dropping his hand back to his lap and Stiles straightening.

“Alright, new plan,” Stiles said ruefully, his eyes dark with thought as he stood up and spoke to the room at large instead of to Derek directly, “I’m going to swing by your loft and grab some of your stuff. If you want to give me a list or-” He cut himself off as Derek stood.

Stiles tracked the motion with his eyes, his previously unfocused gaze sharpening at the, of late, unusual movement. Derek’s face was closed off to any telling emotion but Stiles could practically feel him stealing himself in the stiffness of his shoulders.

They exchanged a look for a long moment that might only have lasted only a few seconds, Stiles wasn't sure, before he had to look away. He covered it by turning toward the door and pulling out his keys as he said, “You’re welcome to come along.”

* * *

 Everything Derek owned fit into a large duffel bag. People piled possessions when they stayed in one place, but the flow of Derek's left little room for idle memories to accumulate in the back of a closet. But his lack of worldly possessions spoke just as clearly as any garage filled with dusty boxes. It spoke of movement, years of running, and a life spent leaving things behind when they became too heavy.

But as good as Derek had become at leaving things behind and not getting too attached to his possessions, he couldn't seem to transfer this skill over to the nonphysical baggage he carried. The lives he’d lost hung heavy on his shoulders and his mistakes dragged at his heels. He could push it aside and walk just fine most of the time. But in those dark times that it pulled him down he had still always managed to keep moving even if he had to crawl. This time was different though.

He silenced the thought trying to drag him through the floor by watching Stiles from the bottom of the steps where he’d placed the bag of his worldly possessions, but not bothered to pick it up yet. Stiles was slowly crossing the room toward the window, memories and thoughts swirling around him lazily.

“It’s funny,” Stiles was saying, “even with everything that’s happened here, it still feels safe, you know?” He laughed under his breath as he said, “It probably is still one of the safest places in this wannabe Sunnydale.”

For Derek, it didn't feel safe, even though Stiles had a point, it just felt empty and cold. He closed his eyes, drowning out his other senses, and breathed deep. He focused on the only scent that didn't leave him feeling numb, that spark of life in a space filled with ghosts. He didn't let his thoughts creep in, his doubts, his shame, he just held onto that one point of life in the stillness. He drowned out the ambient sounds of the building shifting with the sound of Stiles’s steady beating heart.

He hadn't noticed he had moved until Stiles’s scent was raw and close and his heart beat was loud in Derek’s ears. He felt himself falling forward, lost in the overpowering wash of input from his senses, and his arms flew out of their own accord to catch him. There was an intake of breath beside Derek’s ear as he started Stiles that was perfectly timed with the slap of skin on glass.

The cold window against his palms at the end of his fully extended arms was a stark contrast to the warmth seeping through his shirt from Stiles’s back. Stiles’s spine brushed Derek’s sternum when they breathed. Derek felt the motion against the left side of his head as Stiles turned to the right a fraction to look at him in his peripheral. Derek didn't care to open his eyes, even though he felt questions coming off Stiles’s skin and knew he’d find it in his eyes, only inches away, if he looked. The air between them was charged more than usual by the proximity and he could feel Stiles’s breath warm the skin above his elbow as he caught his breath.

Stiles hadn't moved, wasn't going anywhere, but for some reason there was a fear creeping under Derek’s skin that he would vanish and Derek would wake, alone again, beside the lake. He felt grounded like this, with Stiles so near him, as he hadn't in a long time and he felt that to lose this would be to lose his mind altogether. His deep even breathing became a little faster and he felt dizzier as the world spun around him at the thought. Stiles was the only stationary point in the kaleidoscope. His hands came off the window to steady himself against the sickeningly spinning world with his arms around Stiles’s shoulders, holding him pressed against his chest.

Stiles made a surprised noise at the sudden shift in balance as Derek pulled him back and his arms came up to grab at Derek’s arms for support, his heart rate jumping. Derek buried his head in Stiles’s shoulder to listen with his ear pressed against Stiles’s neck, breathing against his skin fast and uneven.

Stiles relaxed against him, feeling Derek’s fear and desperation. He breathed even and slow to give Derek something to sync his irregular breathing to, like his father did for him on the nights he woke screaming. His thumb skated back and forth across Derek’s arm in a soothing rhythm. Slowly, Derek started to mimic Stiles, his chest rising and falling in tandem. The tense muscles in his arms relaxed as the fear was replaced with a contentment that stood out against the empty worthlessness he’d been drowning in since he collapsed by the lake.

Derek’s eyes finally opened and trailed up the window to look at Stiles. He could just see one of Stiles’s eyes over his mole speckled cheek and jaw. Stiles was staring out the window at nothing, the reddening light of dusk making his iris spark and dance in mesmerizing amber.

Derek suddenly felt childish for keeping them here so long and he knew they should leave. He gently shifted his arms and head in warning to Stiles that he was going to stand up. Stiles dropped his arms and shifted on his feet as Derek moved back from him.

Stiles turned to him, catching his eye before Derek could look away. “You ready,” Stiles asked casually, as though nothing of note had happened. His eyes told the story though. The contentment Derek had felt still sat warm in his chest and he felt something stir in him to see that he wasn't the only one that felt it.

He didn't dig any deeper into it than that though as he gave a curt nod, turning away from Stiles, not able to look at him anymore. He grabbed his duffel with one hand and threw it deftly over his shoulder in a practiced motion. As they left in silence, Stiles’s arm brushed against Derek’s and neither moved to put distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Tumblr [here](http://alexdoesthings.tumblr.com/)


End file.
